Moonshine
by whiterice-party
Summary: It's the same old song and dance as Chuuya and Dazai are partnered - against their wills - for a case. Strange happenings at a bar force the two to work together, especially when danger rears its head. Will they capture the criminal, or will they kill each other first?
1. Chapter 1

_How did things end up this way?_

Chuuya glared at Dazai, trying to figure out why his superiors in the Port Mafia would want him to work with this insufferable guy again. If it were just a difficult case, then no doubt the Armed Detective Agency would just send its glasses-wearing dog to solve it, so why did Chuuya have to tolerate the likes of Dazai yet again?

"Stop sulking, Chuuya," Dazai complained loudly, putting his feet on Chuuya's lap. The two of them were sitting in a booth in a particular bar - a very mediocre joint called The Jazz - that they were supposed to be investigating. Supposedly, people had been disappearing from here every other night or so after appearing to lose their minds.

Resisting the urge to throw Dazai out the nearest window, Chuuya removed the offending legs. "I'm not sulking," he snapped sharply. "I'm actually trying to concentrate, unlike you."

Dazai grinned. "Of course I'm concentrating," he protested, attempting to put his feet back. "This might be tricky, you know, Chuuya. They even assigned me to this case instead of Ranpo. They probably figure that only my charisma and skills are suited for this dangerous task."

There was a long pause, during which Chuuya pinched Dazai's leg as hard as he could. "I sincerely doubt that."

"Come on, be nice, Chuuya." Chuuya didn't have to look at Dazai to know that he was pouting as he withdrew his feet. "I know...you're short, you're partnered with me, and life's tough. But look on the bright side!"

"What bright side?" Chuuya growled, swinging around to glare at his partner, but Dazai was already distracted, craning his neck to get a look at someone across the bar.

Chuuya was about to repeat himself when Dazai softly said, "We've found the next victim."

Instantly, Chuuya was serious; as much as he would love to give Dazai a piece of his mind, they had a job to do. He lowered his voice, too, asking, "How do you know who it is?"

Dazai smiled mischievously. Chuuya didn't even have time to be nervous about that before Dazai had deftly removed his hat and spun it on his finger triumphantly.

"This hideous hat," he declared, raising his voice again.

The couple at the booth next to theirs jumped in shock as Chuuya tackled Dazai across the table, making a wild grab for the abused hat. Every bit of food and silverware flew off the table and both men went crashing to the ground, Dazai laughing, Chuuya cursing and hissing.

Unsurprisingly, their little bout did not go unnoticed by the bar's owner, who began to stomp menacingly in their direction. Chuuya kicked Dazai toward the intimidating woman, planning to throw the bandaged idiot under the bus and flee for his life, but the owner had only just grabbed Dazai by the throat when a shrill scream interrupted them.

It became instantly clear where the commotion was coming from. Only a few tables over, a man was standing, as if cornered, against the wall. His eyes were wild and his chest was heaving; spittle flew from his lips as he snarled at his companion, a young woman. She looked terrified of him, and her cheek was an angry red color, as if it had been struck.

The bar's owner jumped off of Dazai and sprinted to the counter, probably to phone the police or grab a weapon. Dazai and Chuuya, however, were already approaching the man.

Chuuya flinched, irritated, as the crazed man's sudden shriek assaulted his ears. "He's all yours, Dazai. Please, feel free to ask him anything."

Dazai gave him a fake, ear to ear grin. "Chuuya! The young man is clearly asking for an appointment with you! Go on, I wouldn't dream of interfering."

"I insist," hissed Chuuya in return. "Go on, you waste of bandages." He stretched out his gloved hands and shoved Dazai directly into the lunatic, causing the detective to yelp.

Chuuya saw Dazai activate his ability as a precaution, but their quarry wasn't interested in using abilities. Instead, with inhuman speed, the man seized Dazai's arm and twisted hard. An abnormal sound resulted, like bone sliding on bone, and Chuuya thought he saw Dazai's eyes widen.

For some reason, that pissed Chuuya off. It was probably just Dazai's stupid face. In any case, Chuuya suddenly felt like breaking various parts of this crazy idiot. He rushed forward, allowing a grin to spread across his face; after all, this kind of fighting was what really got his blood flowing.

It would be a simple enough move; one of the man's arms was already occupied with the bandaged idiot, so Chuuya could easily get past his defenses. It took only a moment to deftly dodge under the man's free arm, aiming a solid punch for his solar plexus. Chuuya was confident that his motion was perfect. He was too fast for Dazai to keep up with, and, he was sure, too fast for his opponent as well.

He heard the huff of air as his strike knocked the breath from the man's body and couldn't help but snicker. He'd go for the free arm next; he could already picture it in his mind's eye, feel the pressure point under his fingers, see the body flipping over as he twisted-

Before Chuuya could do so much as grab the targeted arm, however, something hit him - hard - in the face, knocking him back and to the ground. Dimly, he registered that the man had released Dazai and used that hand to attack. Bright lights exploded behind his eyelids and he shook his head to clear it, nearly knocking off his beloved hat.

By the time Chuuya had come back to his senses, the perpetrator had already escaped, leaving a trail of terrified-looking customers and overturned tables in his wake.

 _How the hell did he move that fast?_ It wasn't like Chuuya to be caught so utterly off-guard in a hand-to-hand fight. Something was definitely off.

"Getting rusty, I see, Chuuya," Dazai commented impishly from his spot on the floor. Chuuya's first instinct was to stomp over and strangle the man, but he noticed that Dazai was clutching his right arm and looking rather uncomfortable.

 _Well, whatever. It's not really a fair fight if he's injured._

"C'mon, you helpless bandage heap," Chuuya grunted, grudgingly extending a hand. Dazai took it with a simply irritating smile, and Chuuya shuddered a bit. "Guy's disappeared, so let's get that bruise checked out before you get me killed."

He pulled up his useless partner, hoping that the bar's owner wouldn't stop them. Luckily, she seemed to be occupied with picking up the fragments of a broken greenish bottle; she seemed to be upset enough over the smashed merchandise that she didn't notice or care when the two of them left. She didn't even seem to have called the police.

Chuuya frowned, glancing back at her as he supported Dazai out of the door. That owner sure must be fond of whatever liquor that green bottle had held.


	2. Chapter 2

Chuuya knew that he was going to regret this _a lot_ , but since he didn't particularly feel like treating Dazai's injury while squatting in an alleyway, he brought his partner back to his apartment. Hopefully, Dazai would die before he had a chance to stalk Chuuya back to this apartment, now that he'd been here; for now, though, the injury was going to drag Chuuya down on this case, too, so he had to treat it.

It wasn't a great apartment, but Chuuya didn't think that it deserved the reaction Dazai gave it. From the way he acted, one would think that it was a rat-infested dump. Who did Dazai think he was? He couldn't possibly have a much better apartment than this, so what was with the attitude? He was clicking his tongue condescendingly at his surroundings even as he cringed at the jostling of his shoulder.

Chuuya accidentally-on-purpose dropped Dazai on the floor, taking great pleasure in the resulting exclamation as he headed to the bathroom for supplies. When he returned to his living room, Dazai was making himself comfortable on the couch.

"Why, Chuuya!" Dazai's voice was obnoxiously energetic. "I didn't realize you cared enough to bring an entire hospital's supply for me."

Chuuya felt heat rush into his face. "Shut up," he snarled, but as it was true that he could barely even walk under the mountain of medical supplies in his arms, he dropped them unceremoniously on Dazai's lap.

"There," he huffed, crossing his arms. "Do something with it."

"Chuuya," Dazai complained, stretching the pitch of his voice, "you know I can't treat myself with one bad arm…"

"Suck it up, bandage dump," Chuuya muttered, but after a few moments of watching Dazai pathetically struggle to unbutton his shirt one-handedly - which, incidentally, Chuuya _knew_ he could do - he stepped in.

"Chuuya-" Dazai started, delighted, but Chuuya's glare was enough to shut him up for once. He made sure to break off a couple of the buttons on Dazai's shirt as he went, opening it just enough to get a good look at the man's right shoulder.

He couldn't really see much because of the bandages, but it did look as though the area around the shoulder might be inflamed. He felt Dazai flinch, too, when he poked and prodded the area, although the injured man managed to maintain his incredibly irritating smirk throughout the examination.

"Can you move it?" Chuuya asked gruffly, giving the shoulder another nudge for good measure.

Dazai made a quiet hissing sound through his teeth, then wiggled his arm painfully in response.

"Probably not dislocated," Chuuya yawned, standing up. "Might be a rotator cuff tear or something. I don't know. I'm not a doctor." The last words were spoken venomously, since he had to compensate in rudeness for the fact that he'd just been moderately kind in the act of helping Dazai.

Dazai, the idiot, refused further treatment, so that was that. Maybe he hoped that he would somehow die from an injured shoulder.

They decided, logically enough, that it was a good time to discuss the case, but they still didn't have a lot to go off of. On top of that, Chuuya was trying his best to ignore the fact that Dazai had snuck into his kitchen and grabbed the stashed bottle of wine, and was now entertaining himself by tossing it up in the air and catching it repeatedly.

"That guy was insanely fast," Chuuya growled, watching his wine bottle spin in the air again. "Are you sure he wasn't using an ability? There's no way he should move that much more quickly than I do."

There was a pause, in which Dazai caught the bottle on his bad side nearly dropped it. Chuuya clenched his jaw in an order to remain civil.

"There was no ability," Dazai asserted, and Chuuya had to contain a groan when he saw the brown eyes suddenly light up. "Chuuya, could you possibly be getting old? Seems like you're slowing down…"

The bottle glinted as it twirled in the air.

Chuuya breathed in and out very slowly, reminding himself that he absolutely should not let a fight with this walking disaster occur in his own home. Not unless he wanted to be forced to move out when the building collapsed, at least.

"I'm not getting slow," he said through clenched teeth. "There was something weird about that guy. He got past you pretty easily, didn't he?"

Dazai yawned pointedly, coming dangerously close to dropping the bottle again. "You don't have to lash out at your _partner_ just because you got beaten by a normal citizen, Chuuya," he teased, drawing out the name and tossing the bottle higher than before. "It's okay. I can handle the fighting from now on. You just sit back and -"

He had to cut the sentence short in order to dodge as Chuuya crossed the distance between them in a mere instant, swinging a fist for his face. Luckily, Chuuya was fast enough to simultaneously catch the still airborne bottle, but as far as he concerned, the bottle was no longer the major issue; Dazai was asking for a fight at this point. He stashed the bottle safely behind a couch.

Dazai could taunt him all he wanted, but Chuuya knew that his own speed and fighting style were still superior. He'd have to be extremely cautious if he didn't want his apartment to be trashed, though.

With that in mind, Chuuya picked up a padded chair - his second favorite, not his favorite - and threw it at Dazai with all his might, dashing forward to meet his opponent.

The chair broke spectacularly on the wall as Dazai dodged out of the way, it legs bouncing off of it and across the room; one of them nearly hit Chuuya full in the face, scratching his cheek.

"Stop running away, Dazai," roared Chuuya, almost gleefully, as a thin stream of blood trickled down to his chin. God, it had been so long since he'd had a good fight with Dazai. Without this kind of thing, his stress level really just built up more and more.

Dazai grinned in reply, lunging forward and aiming a solid kick for Chuuya's gut. It was a close call, but Chuuya managed to dodge it, as he knew he would; in what seemed like just a single second, Dazai was pinned under Chuuya, good arm twisted painfully behind his back.

The both of them were panting, but before Chuuya could rub his victory in Dazai's face, the subdued man cracked an infuriating smile. "Feel better now?"

Chuuya could have strangled him. He didn't, of course, because they had to finish the case. He could have, though.

Unwillingly, he released Dazai, who instantly took the surviving armchair.

"Can't you go about things like a normal person?" Chuuya seated himself on the floor, since he'd smashed his other armchair and since, at this point, it was useless to try to move Dazai unless he wanted another fight.

A moment of silence. "That doesn't sound like me, does it, Chuuya?"

Chuuya chose to ignore him, his ears burning furiously. "I really didn't slow down, though. There was something wrong with that guy."

"Well, he definitely wasn't using an ability. I told you."

"Maybe someone else is using an ability on him," Chuuya suggested, adjusting his hat; it had gotten ever so slightly misaligned during their bout.

Dazai frowned. "An ability that makes other people lose their minds and become insanely strong and fast?"

It sounded unlikely to Chuuya, too, but he shrugged. "That bar owner was a little suspicious, though, wasn't she?"

"Are you just saying that because she tackled me? Chuuya, you really do care."

"I would applaud her if it were just that, you waste of space - she had every right to do that," snapped Chuuya. "Don't you think a normal bar owner might have called the police or something, though? She was just freaking out about some broken bottle."

"You of all people should appreciate the tragedy of spilled liquor," Dazai reprimanded, wiggling a disapproving finger. "That isn't suspicious."

Suppressing the urge to bite off that finger, Chuuya shook his head. "Do you have a better lead, then, bandage-brain?"

Dazai thought for a moment, nodding his head seriously.

"You know...I think we should check out that bartender. She attacked me, you know."

Chuuya was going to kill him by the end of this investigation. He just knew it.


	3. Chapter 3

God, Chuuya hated this bar.

Here they were, _again_ , waiting docilely for some maniac to turn up and start trying to murder people. Was it just him, or was this bizarre? He wasn't getting paid enough for this.

Chuuya froze momentarily, squinting. Wait. Was he getting paid for this?

He was distracted from this rather upsetting train of thought by Dazai, who was standing up to talk to a passing woman. Judging by the sweet tone of Dazai's voice and his moderately embarrassing posture, it was clear that he was asking something unbearably disturbing of her. Chuuya did her a favor and dragged Dazai down by the ear, banging the bandaged idiot's head against the wall a little as an added bonus.

The woman huffed and made a point of grinding her heel into Dazai's foot as she walked past. Chuuya made a note to find out her name and send her flowers at a later date.

"That was unnecessary, Chuuya," Dazai complained, glaring at him.

"You're the one who's unnecessary," Chuuya growled, kicking him under the table. "Pay attention. Are you seriously this incompetent?"

"At least I can actually reach your apartment's top shelf without climbing on the counter."

"At least I'm not constantly mummified in dirty bandages."

"At least I'm not obsessed with ugly hats."

"At least I'm not an _idiot_."

At that, Dazai only squinted at him, as if trying to decipher why Chuuya would think that he, himself, was not an idiot.

Chuuya broke eye contact reluctantly, noticing that a couple of men at a table nearby were giving them weird looks. "Do you see anything suspicious?"

Dazai give him a very pointed look. "Nothing suspicious _and_ relevant to our case."

A woman-probably drunk-stumbled past their table, roughly bumping against Dazai's injured shoulder. There was a sharp intake of breath as Dazai clutched his shoulder, but Chuuya was more interested in the woman, and not just because he wanted to thank her for hurting Dazai.

She had taken a seat at a table and, as far as Chuuya could tell, she wasn't actually drunk. Rather, she looked quite upset; her face was covered with tears and half-obscured by her tangled, thick black hair, and her body shuddered as she tried to contain her sobs. A waiter came and went, taking her order to the bar's owner, who was bartending again tonight. The woman hardly seemed to notice, being consumed in whatever private demons were haunting her.

Faintly, Chuuya heard Dazai making an attempt to antagonize him, but he was completely focused on the bar's owner, who was pouring something from a clear green bottle into a drink and mixing it. That shade of green - there was no mistaking it; it was another bottle like the one that had been broken before. Chuuya almost wondered if he ought to stop her, but he decided against it, since they still needed to collect evidence before they could catch the criminal.

He watched carefully as she finished the drink and set it on the counter near the waiter, who was waiting diligently. The drink was delivered to the woman successfully; still crying, she drank the entire thing in a couple of gulps, then lowered her head to the table in defeat.

His entire body was on edge, waiting; Chuuya watched, ready to seize the woman once she'd gone mad. Several minutes passed, though, with Dazai chattering on endlessly in the background, and there was still no change except that the woman's weeping had decreased somewhat.

Perhaps Chuuya had been wrong. He glanced suspiciously back at the bartender, who had stowed the green bottle safely away again. It was possible that the reaction was just delayed, so he'd have to keep watching, but shouldn't something have happened by now? And how on earth was this woman _still_ crying?

Good God, this was so boring.

Chuuya felt himself drifting off; as much as he tried to force his eyes open, they kept on sliding shut. He was slipping, but it was so comfortable…

"Oi, sleepy-head!" The loud and dreadfully familiar voice dragged Chuuya from his stupor, and something hard smacked the back of his head. "Are you going to nap, or are you going to work?"

Chuuya instinctively, sleepily made a swing for Dazai's face, his face burning in embarrassment at being caught snoozing, but the more alert man dodged easily and Chuuya fell entirely off of his chair. Before he could gather himself and his pride, Dazai had grabbed him around the midriff and pulled him up, supporting and steadying him.

"Hey!" Chuuya hissed, trying to throw him off. He pushed on Dazai's hurt shoulder, and Dazai winced.

"Sorry, my friend's a bit drunk," Dazai laughingly announced to the room at large, stomping on Chuuya's toes in retaliation. Chuuya had to smother a rather atrocious profanity as the pain fully woke him up. "He's a lightweight, isn't he?"

The bar was pretty well empty now, as far as Chuuya could see, and no one was really paying attention to them.

"I'm taking him, then," Dazai finished rather awkwardly, turning to half-carry Chuuya out the door.

The moment they were safely out of the bar and out of earshot, Chuuya spun, breaking Dazai's grip and kicking him in the gut. "What are you thinking?" he snapped, watching Dazai bend over, winded. "I'm sorry I fell asleep, but what about our job? Are you even more of a moron than I'd thought?"

Straightening up with a bit of difficulty, Dazai massaged his stomach; Chuuya, who had calmed down momentarily after hitting him once, had to again contain his rage upon seeing Dazai's irksome expression.

"You were watching that woman, weren't you?" Dazai sighed with an infuriating air of superiority. "Since you were asleep, you didn't notice her leaving. She left about three minutes ago. I figured it might be a good idea to follow her. Do you disagree?"

Chuuya spluttered uselessly for a solid five seconds as he struggled to retort, his face burning again; eventually, he managed, "Which way...did she go?"

"How would I know?" Dazai asked innocently, shrugging. "I was escorting a drunk out of the bar. I'm a good citizen, you know."

Sharing a collective grimace, the two of them started their search of the surrounding area, but the woman was already nowhere to be found.

Chuuya wanted to hit Dazai. He really, really wanted to hit Dazai. He also, however, wanted to hit himself. He'd been careless enough to let their target wander away right in front of him, and he'd actually fallen asleep, of all things. To be fair, partnering with Dazai was exhausting, but…

As this thought occurred to him, Chuuya gave Dazai a defeated glance. He was startled to see that Dazai also looked exhausted, and the fingers on his injured side seemed to be shaking.

Yeah, Chuuya really wanted to hit Dazai. But he couldn't right now. The man looked too pathetic.

"Let's go back to my apartment and re-focus," Chuuya said, well aware that he would come to regret the offer.

Dazai brightened, the fatigue disappearing from his face. Chuuya promptly punched him.


	4. Chapter 4

In the following week, there were no reports of crazed bar customers or anything of the sort, although Chuuya and his annoying partner saw the bartender serving out of the green bottle at least a few times every night. As convinced as he had been that the bartender was the culprit, with no current activity, it was no longer realistic to gather evidence from the bar. This was doubly true since the bar's owner had started to give them suspicious glares.

The only thing to do, then, seemed to be to follow the bar's owner back to her home. With that in mind, Chuuya and Dazai waited for the bar to close, not daring to wait inside the bar in case they looked suspicious. Dazai waited by the back exit, which led to an alleyway, while Chuuya chose to stand, concealed, near the front entrance. Either the owner would come out of the front entrance and into the well-lit street, after which Chuuya would follow her at his leisure and Dazai would soon join him, or the owner would go out of the back exit and Dazai would painstakingly follow her, straining his eyes in the dark and trying to avoid kicking over beer bottles. Of course, Chuuya would have to follow, but who said it had to be immediate?

The owner didn't leave until nearly three o'clock in the morning, and she used the front door, much to Chuuya's chagrin. Following her was easy enough. Despite her alleged criminal activities, she didn't seem to be particularly wary of her surroundings. Apparently, she also lived within walking distance, because after walking only a few blocks, she entered a rather dodgy apartment building.

Chuuya was lurking outside, trying to determine how long he should wait to follow her in so as to not lose her while not drawing attention to himself, when he felt a sudden and unpleasant breeze on his scalp.

"Son of a -"

"Chuuya!" Dazai exclaimed, dancing backward, Chuuya's hand nearly closing in on his hair. The bandaged moron spun Chuuya's hat around a single finger, a gleeful expression on his face.

"Do you have a death wish?" Chuuya hissed.

"Now, now, Chuuya," Dazai reprimanded, making a show of inspecting the stolen hat. "Aren't you supposed to be tailing the suspect?"

Struggling against the urge to abandon the mission, find a place to buy a rocket launcher, and use it on Dazai, Chuuya turned, spitting profanities left and right. "I don't know which apartment is hers," he shot back at Dazai, who, to his horror, was now wearing his hat.

It looked awful.

"Well, we can't really follow her in right now," Dazai said rather disdainfully, "unless you want her to notice us breaking and entering." He paused, during which time Chuuya crept toward him stealthily, eyes on his hat. Just as Chuuya sprung, Dazai moved deftly to the side, looking away as though he hadn't noticed a thing. Chuuya huffed, seething. "We'll come back while she's working tomorrow."

Chuuya managed to snatch his hat back, hitting Dazai's bad shoulder as he did so. "Touch this again, and I'll kill you."

"You'd have to grab a stepping stool to reach me first."

* * *

It was around six o'clock in the evening when they returned to the apartment building. In the past week, the owner had always gone back to the bar by five o'clock at the latest, so there was a high chance that she'd be gone now.

The inside of the apartment building was creaky and damp, lined with rotting wood and smelling faintly of mold. Frankly, Chuuya was worried about catching some sort of infection by just being here, but he couldn't let Dazai see his distaste. After all, he was a tough Port Mafia member, whereas Dazai had become a soft detective.

Yes, Chuuya was a tough Port Mafia member. He was forced to remind himself of this repeatedly as he winced and stepped around a wet spot on the floor rather daintily, trying to ignore Dazai's smirk.

"How are we supposed to guess which apartment's hers?" Chuuya grumbled, more to himself than to anyone else.

"Hmm, if we'd only _followed her properly_ , we'd know which is hers," Dazai commented dryly, eyes on the ceiling.

Chuuya clenched his fist and exhaled slowly. "There are only two floors with rooms, judging by the windows. There aren't that many rooms." The two of them started up the stairs. "We'll have to stop by each door and listen for sound, and then, if we don't hear anything -"

He was abruptly interrupted by a loud pounding sound as Dazai knocked on the nearest door.

"You idiot! What are you -"

The door opened, revealing a boy of around six years of age. The boy stared up at them, wide-eyed, sucking on some sort of toy he had stuck in his mouth.

"Hello," the boy said brightly through the toy.

"Hi!" Dazai's response was irritatingly enthusiastic, but Chuuya couldn't possibly hit him in front of this small human. "My name's Dazai! What's your name?"

The boy tilted his head, clearly intrigued. "My mama said not to tell anyone strange my name," he mumbled half-heartedly.

"Well, that's okay! We can still be friends," Dazai smiled. It occurred to Chuuya that they'd be rather lucky if no one saw this encounter and called the police. "We're looking for someone," Dazai continued, giving the boy his most earnest expression. "Do you know if a certain lady lives near here? She probably leaves in the evening and comes back very, very early, before you go to school."

Chuuya groaned internally. Not only was Dazai's attempt at questioning this kid extremely obvious, it was also incredibly unlikely that a child like this had any idea whatsoever of where the bar owner lived.

"Oh, you mean Miss Bar Lady," the kid replied. "She lives just next door."

Chuuya rolled his eyes, thoroughly defeated. The universe just loved proving him wrong.

Promising to return later (an activity that might get them arrested), Dazai and Chuuya waited for the small one to go back inside and then cautiously jiggled the owner's doorknob.

There was no resistance; Dazai turned to Chuuya, frowning. "It's open."

Either the owner was so confident in her abilities that she thought leaving the door open wasn't a threat, Chuuya thought to himself, or she wasn't the criminal they thought she was. As he followed Dazai stealthily into the living room, and then into the kitchen, however, he realized that he'd forgotten to account for a third option.

The owner was still there. And - potentially more importantly - she was dead.

Chuuya grimaced, carefully backtracking so that his shoes didn't touch the pool of blood around the woman's abdomen. A quick glance around suggested that she'd been stabbed a few times with a sharp object. Namely, the large, blood-stained kitchen knife nearby.

Dazai carefully stepped over the woman's legs, observing the scene carefully, so Chuuya left him to it, choosing instead to check the rest of the apartment. There wasn't much to check, fortunately, but he heard a low, droning buzz from a nearby room .

The source of the noise was a television, which had been left on in the bedroom on the far end of the apartment. The volume was low, but the annoying sound was still bothering Chuuya, so he reached to turn it off. Just as his hand touched the knob, however, he stopped in his tracks. He opted instead to turn the volume up.

" -string of incidents," the reporter was saying, and Chuuya turned his eyes to the small video that was being shown behind her. It was showing what appeared to be a young man. "This is the sixth in a series of murders in the last two days, all of which have occurred in residential areas."

Well, that wasn't anything overly surprising. Irritated at the lack of useful information, Chuuya was just reaching for the knob again when he received a shock.

"Although the culprit of the first two murders, an elementary school teacher, has already been detained, police have yet to capture the culprit or culprits of the others."

The mugshot being shown on the screen was the woman they'd watched in the bar before - the crying one. In the picture, her face looked completely distorted in a feral snarl.

"This is really a bizarre case," the reporter continued. "It's one of the first string of incidents like this that we know of in which every murder was performed not by someone with a weapon but by someone using brute physical strength, attacking someone in broad daylight with their bare hands."

Chuuya groaned. It was pretty much impossible that this was a coincidence. But why was it happening now?

Dazai was suddenly beside him, pressing a finger to his lips. Frowning, Chuuya glared at him, but he froze as the sound of heavy footfalls reached his ears. It would appear that they had company, and it didn't sound like police.

"We need to go," hissed Chuuya, seizing Dazai's arm and heading for the nearest window. Dazai quickly shook him off, glaring at him reproachfully, but Chuuya insisted. "Are you kidding me? If we get into a fight here we'll definitely leave alert the neighbors and leave evidence of our presence everywhere that we may not have time to clean up. We need -" He stopped abruptly as another thump sounded from a couple rooms over, and he lowered his voice, sliding open the window slowly. "We need to go right now."

Dazai rolled his eyes but complied, carefully creeping out of the window and nearly falling all the way to the ground when his bad shoulder gave out. Chuuya, who was right behind him, managed to catch him by the collar of his ugly trench coat, hissing as Dazai's weight took its toll on his own arm. Somehow, the two of them managed to get to the ground without further injury, but both of them were in terrible moods. Chuuya was irritated that he'd had to catch his extremely incompetent partner, and Dazai was miffed at having been caught by him.

The two of them decided to hang around the apartment in case they could see the intruder at some point, but even when the police finally showed up several hours, there was no sign of whoever had entered. Thoroughly defeated and irritated, Chuuya and Dazai decided to call it a night, discussing what they'd learned back in Chuuya's apartment.

"There was no trace of those green bottles in her apartment," Dazai said, massaging his shoulder with one hand and leaning back in Chuuya's remaining armchair. "If not for the circumstances, there would be no sign whatsoever that this woman is involved."

"Well, she clearly is involved regardless," Chuuya snapped. Dazai gave him a reproachful look at his tone, but Chuuya ignored him, still irked by the earlier events. "She was murdered - that can't possibly just be random - and one of the people who drank whatever that stuff is went nuts. That wasn't the only incident, either, and I'm willing to bet that the other cases are related."

"Why the delayed reaction, though?" Dazai sighed, stretching slowly. Chuuya rolled his eyes; he was still sitting on the floor, not willing to get into an all out fight over the single armchair, and it was difficult to watch Dazai reclining in comfort.

"I don't know," Chuuya responded, "but the owner was clearly just a pawn. Whoever was in that apartment after us is almost definitely involved, although someone else may have killed her. Whoever is actually at fault may not even be directly involved with The Jazz itself."

Dazai nodded thoughtfully. "For all we know - now that we're sure that reactions to whatever that is can be delayed - this stuff could be distributed to bars all over town. We can't watch all of them."

Chuuya frowned, all hostility forgotten in concentration. "How do we know that The Jazz will even be targeted anymore? How do we know where to look?"

"I picked up a couple of things from the apartment to check," Dazai said, holding up a few sealed plastic bags, "and I think we should start checking multiple bars for those bottles."

"It'll take the two of us forever to check so many bars," Chuuya protested, glaring at him. "Are you even more of an idiot than I'd thought? Whatever master plan they've got could get set off before we even check a portion of them."

Dazai gave an infuriating grin, and Chuuya had to resist the urge to smack him. "Oh, but Chuuya, I've got the perfect helpers in mind."

* * *

Elsewhere in the city, Atsushi Nakajima sneezed.


	5. Chapter 5

Atsushi had done nothing to deserve this.

He was sitting sullenly in a dingy bar; he'd tried to look into a nicer one, but hadn't been admitted due to his age. Surrounding him were rude drunkards and irritated sober people, and he was trying his best to keep his head down so that he wouldn't be punched in the face.

Dazai and Chuuya had told him to keep an eye out for an odd-looking green bottle, one that would probably be over-protected. They had also warned him that there might be some very violent behavior. He didn't really know what all that was about, but it made him extremely nervous, and his thumbs were getting tired from being twiddled so hard.

"Weretiger."

Atsushi yelped and nearly jumped out of his seat at the sudden voice, spinning to look a very irked Akutagawa in the face. "Could you...say hello like a normal person?"

Akutagawa completely ignored him. "Have you seen anything suspicious yet?"

"No," Atsushi replied, starting to get irritated. "No green bottles, no violent customers, no anything except you being creepy. Am I supposed to report that?"

"I've seen a couple green bottles," Akutagawa said darkly, demonstrating his selective hearing once again, "but there hasn't been any violent behavior. Every time I try to snatch one of the bottles like we were instructed, however, I get kicked out." A shadow crossed his face. "Dazai and Chuuya forbade me from killing anyone, which makes this job impossible. And you're not helping, either." He jerked his head in the direction of the bar. "What part of that suspicious green bottle, which the bartender is stopping to check on every few seconds, does not look relevant to you?"

Atsushi glared at him. "How am I supposed to tell a significant green bottle from an insignificant green bottle?"

"We need to make a plan to get that bottle." Akutagawa ignored him once again. "Either we have to fight our way through the bartender and anyone else in this bar who's in on whatever this is, or we have to distract the bartender."

"We should distract the bartender," Atsushi said quickly.

"We should fight our way through everyone in this bar," Akutagawa said darkly.

"We are _not_ fighting our way through everyone in the bar," Atsushi reprimanded sharply. "I promise you will be allowed to fight if we somehow fail at distracting the bartender." At the menacing gleam in his partner's eyes, Atsushi added, "You are not allowed to fail the distraction method on purpose to fight. I'll tell Dazai."

Akutagawa's glare burned holes in his skull. Atsushi did his best to ignore it, shivering despite himself.

"I'll do the distraction so that we can avoid any murders," Atsushi said. "Wait until the bartender seems preoccupied completely with me, and then move as fast as you can."

At the irritated sound from Akutagawa, Atsushi got up, throwing his partner one last aggressive look. It was time to do what he did best: playing the role of the useless person.

"Can I get a drink?" he asked, allowing his voice to crack and wobbling on his feet.

The bartender gave him an unimpressed look. "Just...a drink? Anything in particular?"

"I don't know," Atsushi practically wailed, shoving his face closer, over the counter. He raised his voice, turning heads. "What do you have for a broken heart?"

The bartender sighed. "I'm assuming you want something hard, then, right?"

"I don't know," Atsushi moaned, slamming his fist on the counter. "Will that fix my problems? Will that...make me forget? Ohhhhh, I can't believe this happened to me!" He leaned forward and grabbed the man's shirt. "Can I ask you something?"

The bartender looked tempted to punch him, but restrained himself. "Yes, sir?"

"Why are people this way?"

Atsushi was bawling now, actually bawling. He grabbed the bartender's hand in a death grip, and the man tried to shake him off, a look of disgust creeping across his face. "Why are _you_ the way that you are, you crazy asshole?" The shaking intensified, but Atsushi held on tight. "Get off of me! Lunatic!"

Out of the corner of his eye, Atsushi saw Akutagawa inconspicuously move toward the counter; the act had to last a bit longer. He allowed himself to get shaken off by the irate bartender, who looked about ready to murder him.

"Oi, kid," the bartender hissed. His face was becoming an interesting red shade, one that Atsushi had only previously seen Kunikida wear when confronted with Dazai. "Get out of my bar, now."

Atsushi, hearing the note of desperation in the bartender's voice at the prospect of having him out of the bar, seized his chance. "Nooooooo, _you_ get out of _my_ bar!" Dodging the wild swing the bartender took at him in a rage, Atsushi nimbly jumped over the counter and ran to the far end, sobbing loudly as he went.

At this, the bartender could no longer remain composed; with a roar, the man barreled after the boy. This was unfortunate for Atsushi, since the bar counter wasn't terribly long to begin with. The bartender caught up with him and seized him by the arm, roughly yanking him toward the door.

Everyone had turned to look at them now, but no one seemed to notice the black-coated figure sneaking out directly after the bartender returned in a huff. This was fairly odd, as the figure looked extremely out-of-place and radiated angst, but of course, it was not as much fun to watch the edgy teenager as it was to watch the one who was ugly crying and getting kicked in the back.

Outside, Atsushi was extremely winded, having been punched firmly in the gut before being kicked into the mud. "Did you…" He stopped, panting, then continued painfully. "Did you get the bottle?"

Akutagawa didn't spare him a pitying glance. "Of course I did. I'm not incompetent." A slight smirk crossed his face. "I have to say, that was a fun show to watch. You must have a lot of practice being a wimp."

"Oh, yes, plenty," Atsushi said, rolling his eyes. "Let's go."

They started to walk away, but heard a shout from the bartender inside as the bottle was discovered to be missing. By the time the bartender kicked the door open, however, the odd pair were already long gone.


	6. Chapter 6

By the time Dazai and Chuuya met up with Atsushi and Akutagawa in a back alleyway near Chuuya's apartment, they'd checked almost fifteen bars, going in just long enough to look around and ask about recent violence. In every single case, a single, unassuming green bottle sat behind the bartender, but other than a couple of standard bar spats, there was no violence whatsoever.

"Good work, Atsushi," Dazai beamed, taking the green bottle and swinging it around. Chuuya ducked, since his head was at swinging level. Dazai took his free hand and patted Atsushi on the head. "Nicely done."

Chuuya backed away slightly as he sensed the murderous aura emanating from Akutagawa, thinking to himself that Dazai was either clueless or sadistic. No, it was probably both. That idiot was going to get himself killed by his admirer someday.

"We'll go ahead and see if we can get this analyzed," Chuuya growled, glaring at Atsushi until the boy backed off. "You two go home. We don't need you under our feet."

Akutagawa looked sulky, but Atsushi was clearly relieved. "See you later, Dazai," Atsushi said tiredly, and Akutagawa followed him out to the dimly lit street.

Chuuya stared after them, discomfort crawling into the pit of his stomach. "Are they going to be okay going back?"

Dazai gave a dramatic gasp. "Chuuya! Are you worried for the young ones?"

Chuuya felt his face go red, and he responded by aiming a punch at the idiot's face. "No, I'm not. The Port Mafia doesn't want the angsty kid to get lost, okay?"

Dazai, having dodged effortlessly, laughed. "One of them is a weretiger, and the other is...well...Akutagawa. I'm more concerned about you." The two of them started off once more, Chuuya following Dazai's lead, as he seemed to know where he was going. "What if someone steps on you while you're working the case?"

"Bandage-covered moron."

"Knee-high tripping hazard."

Chuuya, who had quite run out of energy with which to hit Dazai, sighed in defeat. "Where are we going, by the way?"

"Oh, I know an expert on these sorts of things," Dazai responded lightly, tapping the bottle with a finger. "And, best of all, he invites midnight appointments at his house!"

Chuuya snatched the bottle from Dazai's hands. "It's three in the morning."

"Even better," grinned Dazai, and Chuuya felt his stomach twist further.

"You have an illegal substances expert who likes to be visited in his home at three o'clock in the morning." It was more of a dry statement than a question.

"Yes," Dazai smirked. He glanced at Chuuya. "Why, don't you?"

Chuuya rolled his eyes. "Tch."

It only took a minute after Dazai knocked for the door to crack open. Chuuya stared as it opened, clutching the bottle and trying wildly to figure out who would welcome house calls at such a time.

Rather than a face, a foot was the first thing to appear from inside the house, striking Dazai in the chest and sending him flying with a yelp.

"DAZAI!"

Chuuya thought he might recognize that angry roar, but before he could think about it - or worry about Dazai - an enraged man rushed out, barreling Chuuya over without a second glance. To add insult to injury, the man's yellow ponytail smacked Chuuya in the face as he passed.

"Kunikida!" Dazai's cheerful cry was somewhat diminished by the fact that he was pulling himself off of the floor unsteadily. "I can always count on you for a good kick! So refreshing!"

"What do you want?" hissed Kunikida, pushing his glasses up further. They glinted menacingly. "And why do you have a member of the Port Mafia with you, exactly?"

Keeping a safe distance from Kunikida, whose stance indicated a clear readiness to kick again, Chuuya spoke. "Your boss didn't tell you he put Dazai on a case with me?"

"He told me," snapped Kunikida, his foot twitching. Chuuya backed up another step, feeling nervous despite the fact that he felt that his fighting was far superior to this detective's. "I'm asking why you have brought him here right now, at half past three in the morning." There was a palpable pause. "Actually, the more pressing question is why _you_ are here at all."

Dazai sensed danger in the nick of time and managed to dodge the next kick, a fiendish grin on his face. "You're going to turn down a member of your own agency? Is _that_ included in your ideal?"

Kunikida's leg twitched again, but after the most evil glare Chuuya had ever seen - which was impressive, considering Chuuya regularly worked with some very angry and very dangerous people - he grudgingly opened the door and let them inside.

It was the most uncomfortably clean place Chuuya had ever stepped foot in. The desk was uncluttered and shined as though it were new, the carpet was impeccably spotless, and there was a faint but pleasant scent throughout the apartment that Chuuya couldn't quite identify, although he felt as though it was on the tip of his tongue. Kunikida led them to his living room, Dazai following him like a sentient train wreck and Chuuya walking in his wake.

Chuuya, finally starting to get tired, spoke up. "Dazai says you're an expert on substances?" He was forced to stop as Kunikida screeched to a halt, Dazai narrowly avoiding crashing into him.

"Dazai said I'm an expert on _what_?"

"You're an expert on everything," chirped Dazai, ducking smoothly as Kunikida lashed out again.

"Sure," Kunikida said loudly, then sighed. "Why don't you go find Ranpo? He can tell you everything you want to know."

"Ranpo has been too lazy to work on this case the entire time," Dazai complained. "He won't help us! You will, though, right?"

"How am I supposed to identify your _substances_?" snapped Kunikida. He sat down at a very neat table and motioned for Dazai and Chuuya to do the same. Chuuya warily complied, feeling as though it might be a trap but also feeling extremely tired.

"Kunikida," Dazai said, suddenly serious, "you know, helping out colleagues in need improves your cardiovascular health."

"Really?" Kunikida's angrily narrowed eyes widened, and he stared at Dazai.

"Write it down," urged Dazai earnestly.

As Chuuya watched in disbelief, Kunikida pulled out his small book and began to write.

"I'm messing with you," Dazai said, quietly, as though commenting on the weather.

The sound of the snapping pen was accompanied by Dazai's yelp as he was flung against the wall yet again. Kunikida glared at him, and upon seeing that Dazai had accepted his spot on the floor, sat down again to face Chuuya. "I'm not anything close to an expert on things like these, but...I can try to figure something out. I have a couple of connections I can call on. I can let you know in a couple of days what I find."

"In a couple of days?" Chuuya snorted, finally finding his courage. "Something might've happened by then."

Kunikida glared at him, and Chuuya had the unpleasant feeling that he might be given detention for talking out of turn. After several awkward moments, Kunikida sighed and said, "That's the best I can do. If you could convince Ranpo to help, that would be a different story, but if he doesn't feel like helping that's that. Take it or leave it."

Dazai looked as though he were about to make a petulant remark, so Chuuya quickly agreed, "We'll take it, thank you." He glanced at Dazai, who looked disappointed at not being allowed to complain further at Kunikida. "What should we do in the meantime?"

Kunikida opened his mouth, as if he wanted to ask why they had to have this conversation in his home in the ungodly hours of the morning, but his curiosity apparently prevailed. After a swift look at him, Dazai responded, "Right now, I just want to sleep. Spare a couch?"

"No," hissed Kunikida.

"We should do something productive," Chuuya said quickly. "It looks as though those who have drunk whatever this substance is could go berserk at any time. I don't know how or when they're being controlled or set off, but my guess is that whoever is behind this wants to set off a lot of people at once. I get the nasty feeling that so far, all of the isolated incidents have been nothing but test drives. Why else would so many people still be walking around as if unaffected?"

"Either that," Kunikida added thoughtfully, "or there are some people who are impervious to the substance, and some that process it more slowly."

"Hey, you don't even know anything about this," Dazai protested. "What kind of substance would a lot of people just be immune to?"

"I would love to know that." Chuuya frowned. "Let's just hope that nothing happens before we can identify the substance."

"Helpful," smirked Dazai, and Chuuya had to remind himself that they were in someone else's home, and someone who could probably beat him up at that, to resist attacking him. "I think we should check out The Jazz more, since we originally found this case by multiple incidents there. Whoever is testing out this substance started at The Jazz. It wasn't the owner, but somebody was working closely enough with the owner to have killed her as the substance spread to the other bars."

Chuuya hated to admit it, but it was a solid thought. "Fine. That bar is closed now, but we can head there tomorrow and check up on the employees." He cracked his knuckles, although it had a slightly lessened effect on the very exhausted detectives. "I'm sure the new owner would be more than happy to share information on the employees with us with a little _persuasion_."

Kunikida looked shocked; Chuuya had rather forgotten that he was there for a moment. "Dazai, absolutely do not do anything that would disgrace the Armed Detective Agency. They will most likely comply once they know you are a detective."

"You do realize," Dazai muttered, "that we are dealing with criminals here, right?"

"Do things the proper way," Kunikida said with an air of finality.

"Of course, of course," smiled Dazai unconvincingly, and abruptly made his way to the door before Kunikida could attempt to rebuke him further. "Come now, Mafia Assistant, we have _proper_ things to do."

Chuuya felt his face redden, for whatever reason, and followed Dazai out with a somewhat apologetic and somewhat irritated look at Kunikida. The air was chillier now, and the harsh light of dawn assaulted Chuuya's eyes. "How will we get anything done the proper way?"

"Oh, we won't," Dazai said nonchalantly.

"But your detective there…"

"Oh, Chuuya," grinned Dazai. "Of course I could not dream of behaving in a way unbefitting a detective. _You_ , on the other hand…"

Chuuya grimaced.

He hated mornings.


	7. Chapter 7

As it turned out, the new bartender of The Jazz was a young man, probably just barely of age. Chuuya didn't catch his name, but what he did catch was the feeling that this man would not be overly difficult to extort information from. In the ten minutes that Chuuya spent talking to him about random nonsense, he displayed at least five nervous habits, one of which was glancing nervously at the servers around the bar every thirty seconds or so.

Dazai, who had been surprisingly quiet for a while now, leaned forward, evidently also sensing weakness. "We'd like to ask you a few questions in private," he said in an undertone. Chuuya had a slight moment of surprise; it was rare, nowadays, for him to hear Dazai use his official business voice.

The bartender instantly and frantically shook his head. "I don't know the answers to questions," he spluttered anxiously, displaying a sixth nervous habit: twitching eye.

"I see," Dazai said knowingly. "Well, I'm hoping you can help us out, alright?" At this, he quickly flashed a badge at the bartender, then hid it back in his coat. Chuuya, who had also seen the "badge," nearly pulled a muscle trying not to roll his eyes.

"That...um, that badge," said the bartender hesitantly, nearly whispering now, "um...can I see it again?"

"...no," Dazai replied, frowning.

"That...isn't a badge, is it?" whispered the bartender, glancing around him as if afraid a team of detectives would jump out from behind chairs and tables at any moment.

Dazai paused for a few seconds; he pulled the badge out of his trenchcoat, handing it to the bartender defeatedly. "Here's a coupon for half off drinks at a rival bar on Thursday nights." Chuuya and the bartender both watched him sulkily walk out of the bar.

Chuuya sighed deeply. There had been a small amount of hope, but Dazai and he had expected and planned for that attempt not to work. Since Dazai wasn't officially with the police, and Kunikida was probably watching his every move to ensure that the Armed Detective Agency was not involved in illegal extortion, Dazai's piece for the night was pretty well over. Chuuya had to admit, though, that he hadn't expected the bartender to have the guts to call Dazai on his bluff.

Well, whatever. It was Chuuya's turn now, although he was rather sick of Dazai pushing the dirty work onto him.

"I don't have a coupon or a badge," he said, lowering his voice so that it was barely audible, "but I would like to speak with you in private, if you don't mind."

"I have t-to watch the bar…"

"Nah, you don't," Chuuya said casually, shifting so that his normally concealed knife glinted in the bar's dim lighting. "I'm pretty sure at least one of the servers is competent enough to fill in. Wouldn't you agree?"

He saw the fear in the kid's eyes, and for a moment, he felt something startlingly similar to guilt. Or something. That feeling was quickly replaced, however, by irritation; although Dazai had left the bar, Chuuya could somehow sense his annoying presence nearby.

"We...have a back room," the bartender muttered, displaying his six nervous habits in sequence. Raising his trembling voice, he called over one of the servers, a dark-haired man that Chuuya recognized from their previous visits. "Kenzo, could you watch the bar for me? I've got a b-business meeting."

Kenzo took a long look at Chuuya before nodding, expressionless. Chuuya followed the bartender into a secluded room in the back, which appeared to be a large, glorified broom closet. Looking around, he saw that it mostly consisted of cleaning materials and what appeared to be the personal belongings of the servers on duty.

As the door closed with a _click_ , it occurred to Chuuya that it seemed very strange for whoever had killed the previous owner to have appointed such a skittish man as a replacement; it seemed that secrecy was of the utmost importance, so it was odd that such a clearly gullible and weak person had been chosen. Just as he thought this, an overwhelming sense of dread overcame him, and he instinctively ducked.

There was a deafening _crack_ as the heavy broom the bartender had swung smacked against the wall, bouncing harmlessly off of it. Clicking his tongue in frustration at his own blindness, Chuuya stared down the bartender, who had transformed in an instant into a steely-eyed, stony-faced opponent.

"Really, now, you were supposed to be deterred by that act," the bartender said, almost boredly. "It's so irritating to have to deal with rats like you, you know...the Port Mafia couldn't send more than two of its cronies?"

Chuuya sighed, supposing that he did rather come off as a mafia member. "Just one, actually. The other one's just a random, troublesome mummy."

If the bartender was confused by this, he didn't show it. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

His tone didn't change one bit, but on the last word, he swung the broom again with the force of a professional baseball player. Chuuya narrowly avoided it, wishing he had a larger space in which to maneuver but fairly certain that he could beat this man in speed and technique.

As he dodged another strike, toppling over an employee's lunch, Chuuya growled, "I still have questions for you, you know."

"Oh, ask away," said the bartender, leaping cleanly across the narrow space and nearly hitting Chuuya with a well-timed jab of the broom. Chuuya narrowed his eyes; it was difficult, with the man's flat tone, to tell whether it was sarcastic. He supposed it probably was.

He dropped suddenly to the floor, successfully kicking the bartender's feet out from under him and straightening up. "I gather you have been distributing the substance in the green bottles to your patrons on someone's orders, since I'm assuming they hired another dispensable nobody to replace the other woman?"

The bartender regained his stance with surprising speed and used the broom to launch a purse at Chuuya's head, although Chuuya dodged it easily. "I consider myself rather less dispensable, you know."

"That didn't answer my question." Chuuya grinned, his pulse quickening from excitement at the prospect of a good fight. He ducked another swing, allowing himself to fall into a rhythm as he read the other man's movements, learning his fighting style. "You can decide how badly you're gonna be hurt, buddy. I'm assuming you're familiar with the Port Mafia's normal methods of persuasion and disposal. We sure as hell consider you pretty dispensable."

"Oh dear, is that so?" the bartender responded dryly, forcing Chuuya to back up slightly with a well-placed blow. The attack was new, different than any previous ones, and Chuuya mentally incorporated that into his idea of the man's fighting style. "I certainly wouldn't want to make an enemy of them by killing one of their men."

He swung the broom again, and Chuuya dodged to the side, laughing aloud at the slowness of the strike. He felt himself stumble, and in horror, he realized he'd tripped over the purse that his opponent had flung at him earlier; before he could recover his balance, the bartender had easily crossed the space between them, and Chuuya felt the broom connect with his stomach - hard. In spite of himself, he fell to his knees, thoroughly winded.

Chuuya wasn't a man who could beat Dazai in a fight for nothing, though; in an instant, he was back in control, kicking at the man's knees with the intention of breaking one.

He felt the kick connect, and there was a satisfying _crack_. Unfortunately, it was followed shortly by another _crack_ ; Chuuya saw stars as a blow from the broom connected with his skull, and he fell heavily to the ground. Struggling back to his feet, he swayed, and felt a trickle of blood running down his face.

Exhilaration coursed through him, a wide grin spreading rapidly. This was the kind of fight he longed for - it was fast, it was difficult. It challenged him.

He would win, of course. But he would play for now.

As he thought this, however, a completely new move - one he hadn't been anticipating - connected with his head, hitting the exact same spot as before. Black flashed across his vision, but he managed to hang onto his consciousness. It did cost him his focus and balance, though, and before he knew it, he was on the floor. A hard kick to his ribs resulted in another unpleasant noise and a wave of pain and nausea.

 _Are you kidding me? This kid can't seriously be beating me._

Maybe Dazai was right, and he was losing his touch.

He coughed. How much damage had that kick done? How bad was the concussion that he'd certainly just gotten? He was having trouble getting back up, his side and head aching and throbbing.

There was a sudden loud sound as the door swung open and then rapidly shut again, and the bartender whipped around to face his new opponent, Chuuya still gasping on the ground. He was happy to see Dazai, who looked thoroughly irritated, but the fact that Dazai was here meant that he'd guessed that Chuuya would need help, which made him angry.

"Took you long enough, bandages-for-brains," he snapped, getting back to his feet. He was determined not to let Dazai outperform him, and just as the bartender managed to land a hit on Dazai's weak side, he hit the man's back with a flying kick. He heard his opponent gasp for air, swinging around to deal with him and ignoring the equally winded Dazai.

This was a mistake; Chuuya was back in the game and irate, and he landed another kick squarely on the man's chest, sending him flying into Dazai's welcoming arms. Dazai was in prime position to knock the man out, and he came through with a solid hit.

The bartender did not look like he was in a remarkable amount of pain or close to passing out, and Chuuya cursed loudly, remembering Dazai's puny capacity for blunt force. He launched himself forward, using a precise strike to knock the cornered bartender out himself.

The broom clattered to the floor, and the bartender slumped to the floor.

Dazai and Chuuya glared at each other. Chuuya already knew what was coming, and prepared himself mentally. Now was not the time to be fighting Dazai.

"Chuuya," Dazai said sweetly, "honey, I've come to save you!"

"I dare you to say that again," Chuuya growled, adjusting his hat.

"So, Chuuya, you didn't manage to talk him into going outside?" Dazai asked abruptly, looking innocently at the ceiling.

There was a poignant pause.

"I may...have forgotten," Chuuya admitted slowly.

"Well. We now have an unconscious bartender in a broom closet in the back of the bar at which we suspect the mastermind to be employed."

As if to confirm the unfortunate nature of the situation, the bartender grunted, still asleep.


	8. Chapter 8

In the end, there wasn't much Chuuya and Dazai could do about the situation that _Dazai_ had stupidly created (Dazai, as if sensing his thoughts, scowled at Chuuya indignantly). The closet they'd had their intense and cramped battle in lacked even a window, so, not fond of the idea of waiting for hours in the closet for the bartender to wake up and then questioning him there, they resigned themselves to removing him from the bar the hard way.

They stepped out of the closet carefully, the unconscious bartender slung limply in between them. The mastermind, were they actually in the bar, would not be fooled by any excuse, but it was worth a shot to explain themselves to the bar patrons they passed.

"Poor guy's dead drunk," Dazai sighed loudly, causing some of the staring people to look away, apparently satisfied with the explanation. "Bartenders aren't supposed to sample their own drinks, but I guess he has a taste for some good sake!"

Chuuya, who knew he was supposed to respond from the pointed look Dazai gave him, grunted in sullen agreement. This was possibly the worst part of this case so far, and that was saying something. Either way, though, it didn't seem like anyone was going to stop them, so at least they'd still get to deal with the bartender on their own terms.

No sooner had he thought this, however, than a petite server blocked their path.

She was, Chuuya thought, a woman that most people might consider rather attractive. Her dark eyes were warm and friendly, and her smile looked natural and relaxed on her face. Her body language immediately expressed a genuine interest as she tucked a lock of sleek hair behind her ear.

"Is he okay?" she asked. "Should I call an ambulance?"

Chuuya froze, torn between the urge to pull out his knife and the urge to run. Dazai's natural instinct to flirt, however, came through for the both of them.

"Well, he's nowhere near as lovely as you," he said with a wink, "but he's okay. Who knew bartenders could have such low tolerance?"

"I really should call an ambulance," the woman said uncertainly, biting her lip in concern. Chuuya's urge to run increased.

"Come now, I think our friend is going to be embarrassed enough already," Dazai complained light-heartedly. "Would you embarrass the poor man further?"

Chuuya thought he said a calculating flash in the woman's eyes just before she gave a bright smile. "Oh, I suppose you're right. Well, take good care of him!" To Chuuya and Dazai's surprise, and before either could move to stop her, she leaned down and gave the man a quick kiss on the lips. She straightened up. "We're rather fond of him around here!"

"We will," Dazai responded, seemingly unbothered by the sudden kiss. Chuuya was quiet, still staring at her face and trying to figuring out if he'd imagined that hard gleam. She looked entirely warm and friendly now. Dazai's voice brought his focus back a moment later. "We bid you goodnight. We'll return him when he's sober!"

"Oh, please do," the woman smiled. Again, Chuuya thought he detected something he couldn't quite name, but Dazai was already headed out the door.

By the time they reached their destination, an abandoned warehouse the Port Mafia used to use for interrogations, the bartender had begun to stir. He thrashed in Dazai's grip as Chuuya tied the first leg to the chair they'd set him on, causing a pained hiss from Dazai as his injured shoulder was aggravated. Rolling his eyes, Chuuya used his ability to hold the bartender fast to the chair. The man's eyes widened in shock or fear as Chuuya finished tying him down, leaving Dazai to pout in a corner and nurse his shoulder.

As soon as Chuuya released his ability, the man took a steadying breath and glared at him. "Release me at once," he growled venomously. "You have no idea what's coming. You're going to regret this."

"And why is that?" asked Dazai lightly, resting his elbow on Chuuya's shoulder. Chuuya tensed, but for the sake of appearances, he made no move to stop him. "Is that pretty server lady gonna beat us up?"

Something flashed in the man's eyes, fear or surprise or pain, but he quickly recovered, leaving Chuuya to ponder his reaction. "My boss is going to kill you both," the bartender spat. "It's gonna be slow and painful. Maybe I'll get to watch."

"Ooh, your boss sounds scary," Dazai said, shifting against Chuuya. "Are they as good with a broom as you?"

The man barked out a laugh. "Why would my boss need something like that?"

They were getting nowhere fast, and Chuuya was starting to get frustrated. Surreptitiously, he elbowed Dazai in the ribs, and his shoulder was freed. "I'm guessing you're familiar with the Port Mafia," he said coldly, forcing a look of disinterest. "So I assume you know what's going to happen if you don't cooperate with us."

The bartender's eyes wavered, but he barked a laugh. "What, you're trying to be scary now? I watched you trip over a lunch box."

"Hey, now," said Dazai, "lunch boxes are responsible for one hundred percent of lunch box related deaths, you know."

"What my partner is trying to say," Chuuya said, throwing Dazai a biting glare, "is that you can consider this your final warning. Tell us what we want to know."

The bartender spat at Chuuya's feet, barely missing his shoes. Dazai made a sound of indignation. "Screw you," the man growled.

Chuuya gave a matter-of-fact nod. "Dazai, get out."

"Aw, Chuuya, I want to-"

"Out," Chuuya hissed, and Dazai went silent. "You're not Port Mafia. I don't think your boss would like what's about to happen."

As expected, the bartender shifted nervously at that, eyes flitting to Dazai as if hoping he would refuse to leave.

"Well, I do have some reading to catch up on," Dazai said brightly, practically skipping away.

"Wait!" shouted the bartender. "Hey, you can't leave! This guy's doing illegal stuff!"

Dazai stopped at the door, giving the bartender an offended look. "You may not care about my interests, but my book isn't going to re-read itself! See ya!" With that, he left, leaving Chuuya and the bartender alone. The bartender stared at him, calculating. Evidently, he had decided on the silent treatment, because he shut his mouth and glared at Chuuya defiantly.

"That's cute," said Chuuya, "but we'll see how long that lasts." Slowly, deliberately, he pulled out his knife, letting the light catch the blade. The bartender's eyes followed it, and Chuuya gave it a twirl for good measure.

"Bartenders need their hands, right?" Chuuya said, as if talking to himself. "Yeah, let's start with those."

As he approached, the man started to thrash, eyes wild. "Get away from me," he panted heavily. "Stop!"

"Hey, you've got your job, I've got mine," Chuuya responded easily. "Hey, are you left-handed or right-handed?"

The bartender switched tactics. "You're going to die," he breathed, "you and your weird friend, you're both going to die painfully, and so is everyone you love."

"Well, right-handedness is more dominant in the general population," Chuuya said thoughtfully, "but one can never be sure."

He was making a gamble, and he knew it. It was possible that the bartender's loyalty was stronger than his self-preservation, his fear, and this would go nowhere, and Chuuya would be forced to either kill the man or stop. Neither option sounded appealing, and neither option would get them any further in the case. He had to hope that his instinct was right, and that the bartender's youth and arrogance did indicate that he would be individualistic enough to prioritize himself.

The man had begun to shiver violently, eyes rolling. "This city will burn. It will burn and it will be because of you and your stupid partner, poking your noses where they don't belong."

"Hey," said Chuuya, "can you wave for me?" He paused, taking in the bartender's increasingly manic appearance. "Ah, wait, sorry, I tied you down. My bad."

"I can't tell you, I don't know anything," the bartender said desperately. His body started to convulse, foam at his lips. Chuuya frowned; that seemed like a bit of an overreaction. "I don't know, I don't know! Leave me alone!"

"I'll just have to guess," Chuuya continued thoughtfully. "You seem like a lefty. I think you're a lefty." With that, he grabbed the bartender's left hand with his, the knife gleaming coldly in his right. "Wow, your fingers are delicate, aren't they? Do you play piano? You should play piano." Slowly, deliberately, he brought the tip of the knife to the first joint of the man's index finger, pressing against the skin but not breaking it. "That's rhetorical, of course, since you obviously won't be able to play piano after this. Complain to your parents about not getting you lessons sooner."

"Stop! Stop!" the man screamed, writhing.

Chuuya rolled his eyes. "Stop being dramatic. You know how to stop this. It's not my fault you're so stubborn." He pressed the knife down, opening a small cut on the man's knuckle. A drop of blood bubbled at the knife's tip, and the man screamed again.

"Wait," he said desperately. "Wait. Okay. I'll tell you. I'll tell you."

Chuuya eased the pressure of the knife, but he didn't withdraw. "Maybe you do have a future as a pianist after all. What's your boss's name?"

"I don't know her real name." Tears had begun to stream down the bartender's face, and he coughed, splashing spittle on Chuuya's vest. There was something on his chin now, something red. Chuuya squinted at it. "I only know her cover name. It's-"

He paused, eyes bulging. Chuuya was about to press him when he noticed the blood trickling from his mouth, turning the foam pink. The man's lips had taken on a blue hue, and his eyes were rolling back in his head.

"Hey," Chuuya said harshly, shaking the bartender's shoulders. "Hey, pull it together."

He got no response, other than a rattling wheeze, before the man fell silent, the rest of his face turning the color of his lips as he strained for air. Chuuya watched in horror as the man twitched, eyes locking on his.

"Honey, I'm home," called Dazai from the doorway, entering with his usual flamboyance. "How's the torture?"

Chuuya couldn't respond. He could only stare at the bartender, who was unmistakably, horribly dead.


End file.
